Context will come later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I return home, the first thing I see is the ticking of the pendulum. I try, I honestly try to close my eyes as tightly as possible - but for some reason they remain open. A measured knock dances in front of the pupils with bright metallic flashes and dissolves in the vessels on the eyelids. Very painful; I can't see anything else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I can't sit down. My finely carved ebony chair is transformed every day into a rough-hewn bench of the grayest alder. She hurts me. It digs its sharp angles into my thighs and legs. I try to lie down - its fibers scratch my back, which has not completely healed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I can not get up. The patterned floorboards, made of ash and beech, become a pile of boards every night, with a draft blowing from the cracks between them. They drive their splinters into the skin of my feet; I fall back and try to pull them out, but they go far into the very flesh. I'm already tired of enduring it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil, a mo vaouenn\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The day before yesterday I shaved my head. Her hair grows like a stiff stubble and pricks her fingers in a funny way. I begin to laugh fervently - and then suddenly fall silent: it seems to me that an persistent pendulum ringing has crept into my laughs. Sore throat. If I scratch my chest, can the laughter come out another way?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My spear stands against a bare wall. It's probably already completely overgrown with cobwebs. I don't want to look at him; I\u2019m scared to take it in my hands - what if, when I touch my fingers, it will burst into flames with stinking fire? I'm afraid. I'm very afraid. I'm really scared. I don't want that much light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil, a mo vaouenn!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I'm actually not afraid of fire. It's warm and warm. Gently dissolves his fingers. Do you remember how your father once upon a time took whole handfuls of it and tossed it from palm to palm? Do you remember when he went to sea? It seems like quite recently, but it seems like even before I was born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I broke the fireplace in our house. It's cold and damp at night, but I endure. I'm still awake. I never sleep anymore. I'm too old to sleep. You can lose yourself in a dream - I don\u2019t want to. I'm afraid to lose. It hurts me when they take it away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yesterday I started going to the sea. It is gentle and smells like water. Such clean and bright water - and somewhere below, in the sand, fish swim. So small and funny - but for some reason I don\u2019t laugh anymore. I just smile and wave my hand over the waves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You know, I already stopped screaming when passing by that house. The fire from its blackened logs spreads to my eyebrows every time - but now it has become completely dim. It will soon be completely dismantled, and in its place there will be emptiness. And a slight smell of bone dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil, my daughter...<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I'll pick up the spear again in the morning. Let it burn with me - then I will be free. Let it stick tightly to my palms. Let me be remembered with arms in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ezil, my daughter! I promise you - tomorrow I will finally stop crying.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Context will come later.<\/p>\n
Ezil.<\/p>\n
When I return home, the first thing I see is the ticking of a pendulum. I try, I honestly try, to close my eyes as tightly as possible \u2013 but for some reason they remain open. The measured knock dances before my pupils in bright metallic flashes and dissolves in the vessels on my eyelids. It hurts a lot; I can\u2019t see anything else. \u2026<\/p>\n